


you're the only kind of love i want

by gothfob



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hiatus, Kissing, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Smut, Srar era, as always, fob lyric references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothfob/pseuds/gothfob
Summary: When the band gets back together, Patrick has a lot of conflicting feelings. He isn’t sure if trying this again will work. What if everything is exactly the same? What if it’s different? Both scenarios fill Patrick with an impending sense of doom.He doesn’t like the uncertainty of it. Patrick has talked to the other guys during the hiatus, a sporadic phone call, text, or email here and there. He even went to Joe’s wedding.Shortly after he submitted that blog post, Pete called him to check on him. A weird, ironic twist of fate. It felt wrong to Patrick, like a complete role reversal in their dynamic.Or the one where the band gets back together, and Pete and Patrick are sappy and in love. Inspired by Bob Dylan and Deep Blue Love.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	you're the only kind of love i want

When the band gets back together, Patrick has a lot of conflicting feelings. He isn’t sure if trying this again will work. What if everything is exactly the same? What if it’s different? Both scenarios fill Patrick with an impending sense of doom. 

He doesn’t like the uncertainty of it. Patrick has talked to the other guys during the hiatus, a sporadic phone call, text, or email here and there. He even went to Joe’s wedding. 

Shortly after he submitted that blog post, Pete called him to check on him. A weird, ironic twist of fate. It felt wrong to Patrick, like a complete role reversal in their dynamic.

But Patrick missed the sound of his voice, the way he could soothe Patrick’s worries about his plummeting solo career. They had exchanged their apologies, and they were friends again, if a little tentatively. 

Then Pete had asked him to get the band back together, and Patrick was always such a sucker. He could never say no to Pete, especially not about this. 

Patrick hasn’t seen Pete in person since before the hiatus. The air has been cleared between them, after the last fight they’d had. Pete seems to be more about mending bridges these days than burning them.

It gives Patrick a sense of hope, that maybe they can make this better than their first go round. 

Patrick is still anxious to see Pete, unable to predict what Pete will say or do. They agreed to meet at Pete’s house in LA, and Patrick is the last one to arrive, Joe and Andy’s cars are in the driveway already. At least Patrick won’t be facing these fears alone. 

Patrick rings the doorbell and waits with his hands buried in his pockets. Pete opens the door with a flourish, always one for the dramatics.

Patrick stares at him, mouth gaping open unattractively. Pete’s hair is shorter, and he’s dressed in a Metallica tank top and a pair of black leather pants. There is a distinct lack of eyeliner around his eyes.

He looks incredible, and Patrick is relieved that he doesn’t look gaunt like the last time he had seen him. He looks healthy, lean and muscular all at once. 

“Hi, Trick.” Pete says, his voice full of impossible fondness. Patrick blinks, struggling to form words. What is he supposed to say? Where does he even start? 

Pete grins at him, his eyes sparkling. Pete opens his arms wide and Patrick accepts the hug gratefully. This, he knows how to do.

Patrick wraps his arms around Pete’s back, squeezing with the force of all the emotions flowing through him. Pete is warm, steady and overbearing with his affection as always. It’s comforting. 

“Hi, Pete.” Patrick chokes out, his chin digging into Pete’s shoulder. 

Pete rubs Patrick’s back in a soothing manner, and then he pulls away to get a good look at him. 

“Looking sexy, Stump. Though I’ll miss the box blond look, I definitely prefer redheads.” Pete teases, ruffling Patrick’s hair.

Patrick decided against a hat today, just because he didn’t want to fall back on that safety blanket and cover his eyes if things got too difficult. He owes his friends more than hiding. 

Patrick flushes, and instead of accepting the compliment, shrugs. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” Patrick murmurs, and Pete laughs, raising an eyebrow and gesturing for Patrick to come inside. 

Patrick does, taking off his shoes by the door and follows Pete into the living room, which is modern and spacious. Joe and Andy are sitting on the couch, talking in hushed tones. 

Joe looks up at him first, and he stands to give Patrick a hug and a nervous smile. 

“Missed you, dude.” Joe says, and it’s such a shift from how cruel they could be to each other in those last few months in the band, it fills Patrick will relief. 

“Missed you, too. All of you.” Patrick replies earnestly, and he takes a seat on the far end of the couch next to Andy. 

“It’s definitely mutual.” Andy speaks up, and when Patrick turns to him, Andy is giving him this knowing look.

Patrick has a feeling he knows what Andy’s trying to say with his gaze, but Patrick doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he squeezes Andy’s shoulder and smiles at him in a reassuring, albeit forced sort of way. 

Pete ends up sitting on the coffee table, his eyes bouncing between the three of them, observing the way the air crackles with awkwardness and discomfort. 

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like the energy in the room right now. You guys are acting like we’re strangers. Knock that shit off.” Pete says, trying to sound firm and failing miserably. Mostly, he sounds whiny. 

“You sound like Andy.” Joe snorts. Andy elbows him in the ribs. “Ow!” Joe yelps, rubbing at his side. 

“We kind of are like strangers to each other. We haven’t all been together in the same room in years. We aren’t the same people as before. Things have changed, and so have we.” Andy says, full to the brim with wisdom. 

“He’s right.” Patrick blurts. Patrick isn’t exactly known for his way with words. “I think we have to change things accordingly. Have guidelines.” 

“That’s...not a bad idea.” Pete tilts his head, considering. 

“I think if we’re gonna do this, we need to be honest and upfront with each other. When we’re starting to burn out or feel like we need a break.” Joe suggests. 

“Yes. I also think we should have other projects outside of the band. Before it was our whole lives, and it took over everything. We need a clear separation between this band and the rest of our lives.” Patrick adds. Everyone nods in agreement at this. 

“One more thing,” Pete says. “I want Andy and Joe to have more creative control. Over their own parts in songs, but also what songs make the albums and have them look over the lyrics too. I want everyone to feel like they have a voice this time.”

Patrick’s whole problem the last time was that he became a control freak. As hard as it will be, he thinks it’ll be good for him to hand over some of the control as far as the music goes. 

“I think that’s fair.” Patrick agrees. 

“Finally.” Andy deadpans. Joe tackles Pete onto the carpet and into a headlock. Patrick sighs, pretending to be exasperated. 

“So that’s it, huh?” Joe sits up, curly hair sticking out in all directions from rolling around on the floor. “I’m so excited to do this the right way.” Joe beams. 

“Me too. So we’ll have to have a meeting with management and then we can hopefully get some lyrics and melodies together to book studio time.” Pete grins. 

Pete ends up having them stay over for dinner. They order takeout, and watch stupid 80’s movies. Patrick sinks into the familiarity of it, feels warm and content. Andy and Joe both leave around 9, with promises to talk tomorrow. 

This means Patrick is alone with Pete. They’re sitting with their thighs pressed together, the glow of the television the only light in the room. 

Patrick never thought he’d get a chance to be with Pete again. He thought after all the terrible things he said, Pete would never forgive him. Pete would never let him back in. He’s so fucking happy to be wrong for once. 

“Do you wanna see some of the lyrics I’ve been writing?” Pete says this tentatively, gauging Patrick’s reaction.

“Of course.” Patrick smiles. He feels a nervous excitement bubbling under his skin, equal parts terrified and curious about what Pete’s been writing while they were apart. 

Pete smiles back at him, blinding in his enthusiasm as he gets up to find one of his many notebooks. 

Pete drops a tattered notebook on his lap, navy blue and filled to the brim with words that are uniquely his.

Patrick envies him sometimes, the way he can frame his thoughts and feelings so eloquently. Patrick can write lyrics, but they aren’t nearly as clever or catchy. They’re just surface level. 

Patrick opens the notebook with care, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he looks down to read them. Pete leans over into his space, his breath hitting the side of Patrick’s face and neck. 

Patrick puts a hand squarely on Pete’s chest and pushes him back gently. 

“Stop breathing down my neck. Give me a minute to read it first.” Patrick scolds. Pete laughs, a little sheepishly, but he obeys and keeps his distance until Patrick is finished going through the first few pages. 

“Oh, Pete.” Patrick says, with feeling. “Your words are beautiful, like always. Soul crushing and hopeful all at once. I don’t know how you do it.” Patrick smiles. 

“You really think so?” Pete exhales, the relief obvious in the way his body relaxes. 

“Yes. You act like you’re surprised. As if I haven’t been dissecting your thoughts and putting them in order for years.” Patrick replies, biting his lip in contemplation. 

“It’s been a long time since we’ve done this. I wasn’t sure if it would be the same. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed _you._ ” Pete says, scooting closer to Patrick until they’re touching from shoulders to toes. 

Patrick melts, letting his head fall onto Pete’s shoulder. 

“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too. So much.” Patrick chokes out, tears stinging his eyes.

Suddenly, Patrick remembers the song he wrote that didn’t quite fit on Soul Punk, and that makes him bite down a sob.

He isn’t sure if he can bear showing it to Pete, being so exposed. He doesn’t want Pete to get angry at him, he doesn’t want to ruin this after they’ve just started to fix it. 

Pete starts petting him, hands running through his hair soothingly. 

“I used to blame myself for the band breaking up. I believed I was this blackhole, sucking in everything I touched and destroying it. I thought I had tarnished you, my very own golden boy. But I’ve come to realize that it wasn’t just me. We all played a part in the band fracturing. We all were angry and tired and we started to hate each other.” Pete admits, his voice a pleasant rumble in Patrick’s ear. 

“You didn’t tarnish me. You idealized me too much, I think. You put me on a pedestal, and expected me to stay there. To never disappoint you. So when I fell, you thought it was your fault. You thought you had somehow ruined me. But you could never do that, Pete. It was my mistake, letting you see me that way. I never tried to convince you otherwise. I’m not perfect, I’m just human.” Patrick sighs, burying his face in Pete’s neck. 

“You’re not perfect, but you’re as close as they come, Trick. I love you for who you are. Flaws and all. You’ve always been special, always been _golden_ to me.” Pete says, voice soft and reverent. Patrick can tell he’s crying now, too. 

“I love you, too. And you’re not a blackhole. You’re the sun. Everything in my life revolves around you. And I like it that way.” Patrick says this fiercely. 

Pete lets out a noise that’s a cross between a sob and a laugh. 

“I appreciate that you think so highly of me, but if anyone’s the sun, it’s you. I’m just the planets, spinning around you.” Pete says this very matter-of-factly. Patrick pulls back just to shove him in the arm. 

“Stop quoting your own lyrics at me, you weirdo!” Patrick chastises. Pete shrugs, a shit-eating grin across his face. 

“Take me for what I am, Patty.” Pete laughs, that loud, braying sound. It makes Patrick want to kiss him. 

“I told you not to call me that.” Patrick pretends to scowl. Instead of dictating that with a response, Pete cups his face between his hands and kisses him, as if he can read Patrick’s mind. It wouldn’t surprise him if he could. 

Pete’s kiss is the same as Patrick remembers it, filled with want but still gentle. He tastes like pizza, and Patrick can’t find it in him to care. He kisses Pete back with urgency, his lips parting to let Pete’s tongue in. 

Patrick can feel this kiss in his toes, like an electric shock through his whole body. God, he never let himself hope he could have this again either. 

Eventually, they pull apart to breathe, foreheads pressed together. 

“Patrick,” Pete says, his voice sounding raw. “I want to do this for real this time. You and me. Forever. Please, say yes. I might die if you don’t.” 

Patrick beams at him, and nods vehemently. 

“Yes. I want that more than anything. I thought you’d never ask.” Patrick giggles, full to the brim with unbridled joy. 

Pete starts kissing all over his face, across his eyelids, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, the corner of his mouth, just beneath his jaw. 

“Thank you. Come to my bedroom?” Pete asks, amber eyes sparkling. Patrick still can’t say no to Pete. But he doesn’t want to, in this particular scenario. He very much wants to be in Pete’s bed, so he nods, and then Pete leads him down the hall by the hand. 

Pete kisses him again, hands buried in Patrick’s hair as he walks them backwards towards the bed. Patrick only knows they’ve reached their destination when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and Pete pushes him back onto it. 

Pete strips off his clothes in record time, and then he’s hovering over Patrick in all of his naked glory. 

Pete seems to decide to start from the bottom and work his way up, so he slides down to the end of the bed so he can pull Patrick’s socks off his feet first. 

Patrick, hopelessly charmed by this, laughs. 

“Seems like an odd place to start when getting me naked. I didn’t know you had a foot fetish.” Patrick teases. 

Pete bites his ankle in retaliation, but if Patrick thinks that’s the end of the conversation, he is sorely mistaken. 

“Don’t even talk to me about weird fetishes. You’re the one who likes armpits, you dirty little man.” Pete retorts, unbuttoning Patrick’s jeans and pulling them down his thighs.

Patrick is very tempted to kick him in the balls, but he feels that may be counterproductive to the night’s activities and settles for giving Pete a death glare. 

“I plead the fifth.” Patrick huffs. 

“Uh huh.” Pete looks up at him, eyes full of heat and affection. 

Patrick is breathless, he can’t form words when Pete’s fingers are toying with the waistband of his boxers and _looking_ at him like that.

Patrick bites down on his lip hard as Pete finally slides his underwear down his legs and discards them onto the floor.

They’re both naked now, and Patrick has to refrain from covering himself from Pete’s gaze.

Even though he’s thinner than he’s ever been, he’s still afraid Pete won’t love him like he used to, won’t want him. Patrick is vulnerable and exposed in this moment, physically and emotionally. 

“Baby,” Pete says softly, lifting Patrick’s chin up to look him in the eyes. “You are absolutely fucking stunning. I’ve always thought so. I love you with everything that I am. Everything I will ever be. Do you love me like that?” Pete asks, his voice raw and tender. 

Patrick is crying again, the tears welling in his eyes. 

“Yes. Of course I love you like that.” Patrick replies, his bottom lip quivering in his efforts to keep his voice steady. “It’d be really great, though, if you could stop making me cry and fuck me instead.” Patrick chokes out a laugh. 

“Okay.” Pete grins, with his big, white teeth and his sharp, stupidly attractive canines. “I can do that.” 

Pete, much to Patrick’s discontent, shuffles away from him to rummage in the bedside table until he emerges victorious with lube and a condom in hand. 

Pete slides down his body until he’s settled between Patrick’s legs on his stomach, and the _snick_ of the cap on the bottle of lube makes Patrick shiver in anticipation.

Pete warms the lube up with his fingers, and he starts kissing and nipping the inside of Patrick’s thighs, making him gasp obscenely. 

Pete circles his index finger around Patrick’s rim, caressing it lightly before pushing forwards until he breaches through the muscle.

Patrick whines at the intrusion, spreads his legs a little wider and sucks in a deep breath as the pressure builds, until Pete’s inside him up to the second knuckle. 

Pete looks at him through his eyelashes coyly, and then he buries his nose in the thatch of Patrick’s pubic hair, breathing him in. His chin is digging into the base of Patrick’s cock, making him throb with desire. 

Pete gives him that signature Wentzian smile, and then he takes the head of Patrick’s dick between his lips and swirls his tongue around the tip. Patrick loses all of his higher processing brain function, can only bury his hands in Pete’s hair and push up into his mouth, back against his fingers. 

Pete is a very generous man, letting Patrick fuck his face and his hand without complaint. Patrick is greedy for it, greedy for anything and everything that Pete is willing to give him. 

Pete is three fingers deep, his mouth sealed tight around Patrick’s dick, his other hand playing with Patrick’s balls. 

It’s heaven, but Patrick doesn’t want to come yet. He wants to come with Pete inside him, as close to him as he can possibly be.

“Pete.” Patrick rasps, his voice raw as if he’s the one who’s been sucking dick for the last fifteen minutes. Patrick pulls at Pete’s hair until Pete lifts off his cock, covered in Pete’s spit and bobbing against his stomach. 

“Fuck me. Please. God, fuck me. It’s been so long.” Patrick begs. He isn’t ashamed of it. Pete obliges, quite eagerly. 

Pete pulls his fingers out of Patrick slowly, and then he opens the condom with his teeth and slides it down over his dick, engorged with how much he wants Patrick back.

Patrick thinks he could get high off of this feeling, this adrenaline, this intimacy. Who needs drugs when you can have sex with someone who loves you unconditionally and irretrievably? 

Pete is on top of him, his hands planted on the bed to give him better leverage as he pushes inside of Patrick, inch by glorious inch.

Their chests are pressed together, hearts beating in time. Patrick wraps his arms around Pete’s neck and pull him down into a kiss, in the hopes that the more connected they are the more likely they’ll become one person. The more points of contact they have, the more likely they’ll become one in the same.

The kisses turn into just breathing into each other’s mouths, but Patrick can’t complain. It’s perfect, this sex. Earth-shattering and mind bending. 

Pete’s hips are pressed flush to the curve of his ass now, his dick making room inside of Patrick to tear him apart, right down the middle. Patrick will gladly be devoured by Pete, the crash of their hips the only thing he can focus on. 

The burn of the stretch gives way to pleasure. Pete hones in on his prostate like a missile, his cock finding that golden gland inside of him and thrusting into it repeatedly. 

The longer they fuck, the more erratic Pete becomes. His hips jackhammer, and he ends up changing the angle by putting his hands under Patrick’s knees and bending him in half. 

Patrick grunts, moans, whimpers, _dies_ with the way Pete is rutting into him. Patrick’s cock lays abandoned between their bellies, red and swollen fit to bursting. 

Patrick tries to get a hand between them to start stroking himself off, but Pete bats his hand away and wraps his own big, calloused palm around Patrick’s length. 

His strokes are quick and hard, following along with the pace of his hips as he ruins Patrick for literally anyone else. 

Patrick can feel his balls tightening up, drawing closer to his body as he tenses up and the white hot feeling of orgasm threatens to overtake him. 

“Pete,” Patrick pants. “I’m gonna come, fuck, don’t stop, _please_.” Patrick pleads, his voice breaking on the last word as Pete twists his wrist and fucks into him just right and makes his world turn upside down with sensation.

Patrick growls from somewhere deep within his chest when he comes. He arches his back and paints their bellies, their chests, Pete’s hand in long, hard spurts of jizz.

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut as Pete keeps pistoning his dick in and out of him, slams into his prostate one more time and Patrick can feel it in his guts, making his stomach cramp so hard with pleasure that he comes more, drizzling out of the tip of his dick that can’t seem to stop pulsing. 

Patrick melts into the mattress afterwards, aftershocks flowing through him. 

“Holy fucking shit, that was hot.” Pete sounds wrecked, but he’s still hard inside of Patrick. Patrick doesn’t have the energy to do much more than clench around Pete’s dick and urge him to finish. 

“Yeah, baby. That’s it. Give it to me. Come for me, sweetheart.” Patrick lays it on thick, in his best sultry voice. It works like a charm.

Pete comes, eyes rolling back and screaming with his dick twitching and spurting as he helplessly sinks into Patrick’s wet, tight heat like maybe he’ll never stop. Patrick wishes he wouldn’t, but he’s already sensitive and overstimulated. He can’t bring himself to care that he’ll be sore in the morning. It’s totally worth it. 

Pete slides his dick out of him, and rolls over to tie the condom up and toss it into the trash can by the bedside table. 

He isn’t gone for long though, true to Pete Wentz fashion. He comes back into the room on shaky legs, like a newborn baby deer. But he’s got a washcloth to clean them both up with, and Patrick is feeling sated and sleepy. 

“I didn’t know reunion sex could be that fucking amazing.” Pete says, reverently. Patrick giggles, and cuddles up to Pete until he can bury his face in his sweaty neck. 

“I didn’t think we’d ever get the chance to do this again. I didn’t think you thought about me at all when the band broke up, to be honest. I was so sure you’d forget about me and never look back.” Patrick admits this quietly, not wanting to ruin the night with his stupid insecurities. 

Pete scoffs.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all. No one ever thinks of you as much as I do, not even you.” Patrick didn’t believe that before. But he wants so badly to believe it now. He trusts Pete. The least he can do is try. 

Patrick blushes, and bites playfully at Pete’s neck. 

“Shut up.” Patrick says, muffled into Pete’s skin. 

“Never. I will never stop telling you how obsessed with you I am, because you are wonderful.” Pete promises this solemnly. 

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs dreamily, drawing shapes on Pete’s chest. “I think you’re wonderful too. You’re my favorite person.” 

“It’s mutual, Trickalicious.” Pete beams at him, his eyes crinkling. 

“If you ever call me that again, you will no longer be my favorite person. I _will_ break up with you.” Patrick threatens, even though he’s totally joking. 

“That’s never gonna happen. I’m way too irresistible.” Pete winks at him. Patrick kisses him on the mouth and tangles his legs with Pete’s. 

Here, between Pete’s arms, he feels safe. He feels at home. Pete is his true north. Pete lives like no tomorrow, and he wants to spend all of his tomorrows with Pete. Pete is his deep blue love. Patrick makes a note to write that down later, and then he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> to be honest, this fic has no real plot or direction. i wanted to write something canon, and soft, and bob dylan/deep blue love inspired me. so this fic is a combination of all those elements. i hope you enjoy it! i just can't seem to stop writing hiatus/SRAR era stuff, can i? 
> 
> comments and kudos fuel me. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob
> 
> title from deep blue love by patrick, ofc.


End file.
